After the End
by mikey magee
Summary: Sam Wilson never meant to run across T'challa, the king of Wakanda. The two form a friendship that transcends cold Harlem nights, and a secret passion awakens.
1. Chapter 1

Sam Wilson tapped his pencil against his desk. It was starting again. He looked over the paper work that litter his desk. Domestic disputes, children waiting for adoption, workers in need of medical care. Shit. He shook his head. The moonlight crept through his window like a prowler and enveloped him in its glow. All his life he lived in Harlem. All his life he saw the slums of his own home, the children digging through garbage cans just to find their next meal. Many of them were black, many of them could have been his little brother or sister…many of them could have even been himself. He became a social worker to make a difference. To help set right some wrongs, at least for a small moment.

But on nights like these, when the paper work flooded like an ocean, when the moon looked over his shoulder like a beggar, when his own desk felt like it would break under the strain of a few sheets of paper, he felt as if what he did…wasn't enough.

"I should take a break."

And he hated nights like those.

So instead he ended up on the roof. Instead of cramming himself up with paper work, he gazed out into the city he swore to keep safe, as both Sam Wilson and Falcon. He looked down at the rotted staircase on Jefferson Avenue, and he marveled at the scope of the library down Luther Street. His ears perked at the sound of a trumpet, stringing through the night like a ghost. This was his home.

How long had he been up there? Soon, the memory of moonlight gave way to the light of dawn, his city illuminated with splendor. He sighed.

"Back to it then."

As he walked down the stairs, he saw a few faces popping in and out of the building. Some of the early risers, he liked to call them, one of them being Mr. Jake Alabaster…his superior.

"Morning Sam."

Sam forced a smile and stood still. He was too tired to try and fake being nice. Alabaster was as pale as marble stone. Something about Alabaster always rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the cheap cologne, the false smile, or the fact that when it came to social work Alabaster was more than happy to shrink on his duties…especially when those cases involved people of color.

"Hey Alabaster."

"Listen Sam," Alabaster was almost shaking, "Our little operation is going to have a very important visitor today."

A visitor?

"Really?" Sam asked. It took every ounce of restraint not to roll his eyes. He needed to get back to his desk. He needed to finish that paper work. He needed to help those people.

"Yes. A king. Some guy named…I dunno. But he's important."

Yeah, but not important enough for you to remember his name, right Alabaster?

"And you're telling me this, why?" Sam asked.

"Because you're going to be looking after him. Making sure he's taken care of, and you will give him whatever he needs."

"Wow, you're certainly going to great lengths here, aren't you sir?"

Sam knew this guy like the back of his own wings. Sam wasn't sure about the whole "king" thing, but this guy was probably only being used.

"Of course I am Wilson. This guy's a king. If we do this our company will be the most recognized in Harlem"

How exactly? Was what Sam wanted to ask, but honestly he didn't care. He needed to get back to his desk…he had put off his for too long. Far too long.

"Y-yeah. Whatever you say sir."

Alabaster smiled. "Great. He'll be here later. I'll send him to your office when he arrives.

"Great." Sam smiled.

…great.

* * *

It took longer than he expected to finish up, in fact, he in the middle of filing that last piece of paper work when…a knock came at his door.

"Excuse me." And then came a voice. It was deep like the river he used to swim in as a boy. So deep that he could never reach the bottom. It commanded. It mesmerized. It made his stomach fall down to his feet. "Is this the office of Mr. Sam Wilson?"

Growing up Sam never felt like his name was anything special…but coming out of that man's mouth made him think differently. Slowly, Sam's eyes slid from his paper work and onto his new visitor.

"Y-yeah. I'm Sam Wilson."

The man was so…how could he describe it? He stood as tall as an oak tree, his skin seemed to glisten in the poor lighting of his office. He stood stout and tall, a warrior amongst workers, a king amongst men.

"I am T'challa."


	2. Chapter 2

T'challa was the king of an African nation that no one had access to, at least this is what Sam had come to learn. The past few weeks there had been complications. Sam would flip on the channel and hear something about Vibranium, and how it was a vital importance to the country's military. "It is so imperative" they'd say. "Keep out of the wrong hands", they'd say. He never assumed that the king of this little country that was getting so much press would be standing right in front of him.

Or that he'd be so handsome.

"Hello sir," Sam winced, (maybe he should have said "Your majesty"?) He gestured towards the chair in front of him. "Please sit down."

T'challa grazed across the floor like a predator. He made no noise, but his presence felt throughout the entire room, probably the whole building. T'challa leaned into his chair, as if he were contemplating whether or not to speak. Sam was so tired, he could barely keep himself awak-

"Allow me to cut to the chase, Mr. Wilson, as I can see you are tired. I know of your…activities."

Sam raised his eyebrow, what was this guy talking about?

"Your majesty, I'm not sure I-"

"You're the Falcon, one of the protectors of Harlem."

Sam nearly leapt from his chair. How could this stranger know of that? Had Sam gotten sloppy somewhere along the way? Had forgotten to look over his shoulder one night? Were there spies around the corners of Harlem that Sam had never seen before? Shit…guess his majesty wanted something badly, huh?

"Do not be alarmed my friend. I only wish for your help." T'challa placed his hands in the air to show submission, to ease Sam back into his chair. They were both safe, there was no need to worry. "I believe there are Vibranium smugglers somewhere in this city."

"Vibranium?" Sam asked. He had heard of this substance, a very rare metal that was only found in Wakanda, an African nation that no one had seen…some even doubted its existence.

"Yes, there have been concerns that other nations have been using our Vibranium for purposes that are less than noble. I require your assistance, which is why I came here. To you."

"Well why me? I'm pretty sure there are other heroes who can help. Tony Stark for example…or-"

"No, Stark has shown interest in Vibranium for military use…I cannot trust him. It would not surprise me if he were behind this leak."

"Well, what about-"

"Mr. Wilson, you are the only person suitable because you have the most knowledge of the area. Please."

Sam knew that this Vibranium was dangerous, the smallest amount could make one man an army, it was the same stuff that they made Captain America's shield out of. The thought of that kind of weapon in the hands of a villain made Sam want to punch something. Some freak was putting his city in danger, his family, his friends, his everything.

No…he couldn't let that happen. He didn't know anything about T'challa, he didn't even know if he could trust him, but the one thing he did know was that this Vibranium needed to be rounded up and shipped far away from his home…now.

"Alright, I'm in." But there was still something Sam didn't like. "How did you know my identity?"

T'challa smiled, "I would be happy to explain it to you…over dinner perhaps?"

Sam felt his heart skip a beat…


End file.
